


Something old, something new

by hostagesfic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, cisgirl!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 19:16:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3821752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry frowns, tea spilling from the corner of her mouth around the lip of the mug and down her chest. Niall laughs, barkingly, his eyes following the drops down into her sports bra. Harry sighs. “I don’t have to go, you know. I wish Zayn wouldn’t make a huge deal of it.”</p>
<p>“Nah, he’s not.” Niall looks out the window at the weak sun, the light dusting of snow. “It’d just be nicer if we all went, that’s all. Sorta like having you around, don’t we?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something old, something new

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hindsight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hindsight/gifts).



> Dear, dear hindsight, I was so excited to see you were my recipient in the exchange… and then so nervous when I realized that meant I had to write something for you. I hope you like it! Thanks to the mods for putting Zaynmas 2k15 together, thanks to [P Hostages](https://twitter.com/hostagesfic) for cheerleading and handholding, and [Maddi](http://louis-tomlincunt.tumblr.com/) for the beta and britpick! 
> 
> Based on the prompt: “Niall/Zayn/Harry threesome, please. Plot (or if there even is a plot) is up to you. This can be just about feelings and pining/flirting, a little jealousy, or whatever, or it could be about the three of them actually having sex. All I ask for is that Niall and Zayn are both guys and in an established relationship, and that Harry is a woman in this. Can be AU or canon.”
> 
> Content notes: cisgirl!Harry, polyamory. Also: this was written entirely before Zayn left tour/the band, and while it was still mostly winter weather, and I didn’t have the heart to adjust for either of those differences after the fact.

“I just feel like this was really inevitable, you know?” Harry looks far too contemplative for someone spread-eagle naked on a king-sized bed, with a dick bobbing at her chin, and a popstar between her legs, chin slick from licking her out.

“God, Harry, shut up,” Niall groans, wanking himself loosely. The head of his cock nudges her jaw and Harry turns her head to suck it into her mouth, tongue out like she’s eating an ice lolly. Niall’s eyes fall closed, and he sways a bit, only one hand on the headboard to keep him upright.

Zayn watches them warily from down the bed: it isn’t that they have a history of sex prompting A&E visits, exactly, but there have been a few cracked skulls and bruised ribs since they started having threesomes with Harry, and it never hurts to be cautious. The one time they did go to A&E had been far too awkward for any repeats.

“But like,” Harry perseveres, breathless when Zayn lowers his head and curls his tongue around the hood of her clit. “What we have is so organic, and like, genuine, don’t you think, uh, Zayn?”

Zayn huffs, hot and damp against her cunt and nods, ducking down to press his tongue inside. It makes Harry squeak and go quiet, hands trembling in the long top bit of his hair. Distracted, Niall is just rubbing the head of his cock across Harry’s lips now, watching the bobbing of Zayn’s head between her legs.

“‘M really close,” Harry says suddenly, her stomach going taut and making her abs and the cut of her hips stand out, her tattoos looking stark. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, keep doing that, fuck, please, Zayn––”

Zayn presses her thigh up with his hand, his fingertips digging in tight enough to leave bruises that Harry will preen over tomorrow, and Niall swallows hard, watches how Zayn chases her, keeps his mouth on her even when she starts squirming, hips bucking like she can’t help it. Harry moans and her head rolls on the pillow, her forehead pressing against Niall’s knee as her hands go tight in Zayn’s hair and pull him off, swearing.

Zayn rests his wet cheek against her thigh, and grins up at them. “What was that, Haz? Organic?”

Harry shakes her head, eyes closed. “Oh, fuck off.”

;

Morning finds Harry in a lazy lotus by the large windows in the living room, her yoga mat stretched out longways so she gets the most sun as it rises in the back garden. She has earbuds in, her phone strapped to one arm so it doesn’t fall out when she does a headstand––she’s clumsy, but she’s a quick learner. And visiting the Apple store is such an ordeal.

There’s snow outside, which is a bit dismal, but she’s listening to her Tinkling Piano playlist, which means Regina Spektor is cheering her up slightly.

She rather flails when Niall yanks out her right earbud, crouching down beside her on her mat and extending a cup of tea. It smells like lemon, and Harry takes it sulkily. “You scared me. What if I’d been doing something complicated and fallen over and _broken_ something?”

Niall manages to look penitent for a moment before he shrugs. “Probably would’ve laughed.”

Harry shakes her head, narrows her eyes at him over the rim of her mug. “You’re terrible. Where’s Zayn?”

“Still in bed, think he’s texting his mum.” Niall stands up and stretches, the hem of his worn-out white undershirt pulling up and showing the soft pale skin of his belly, the sandy trail of hair down into the elastic of his sweats. “Something about the wedding next month, his cousin? Figuring out invites.”

Harry frowns, tea spilling from the corner of her mouth around the lip of the mug and down her chest. Niall laughs, barkingly, his eyes following the drops down into her sports bra. Harry sighs. “I don’t have to go, you know. I wish Zayn wouldn’t make a huge deal of it.”

“Nah, he’s not.” Niall looks out the window at the weak sun, the light dusting of snow. “It’d just be nicer if we all went, that’s all. Sorta like having you around, don’t we?”

Harry smiles wider than she feels like. “I should hope so, Nialler.”

;

Eighteen months before, Zayn’s mother had taken her son’s announcement that he was probably bisexual, and definitely in a relationship with another man, with all the confusion, surprise, and concern that Zayn had expected. “He’ll have to come to dinner,” Trisha had said, “oh my god. What does he like to eat?”

“It’s Niall, mum. He’ll eat whatever you fix, yeah? You don’t have to worry about it.”

Waliyha had expressed amazement that it wasn’t Liam, but eventually decided that was for the best. “He is the fittest, Zayn, it’d be awkward if I had his poster on my wall and knew you were shagging him.” The other two girls had given him appropriate hugs, and, for Doni’s part, inappropriate smirks that even Yaser’s solemnity could not quench.

Yaser himself hadn’t said much of anything at the time: he’d hugged Zayn and given him a serious nod, and that had been it. He’d given Zayn a kiss on the forehead as he left later, like usual. “It’s like he’s trying to pretend everything is like usual,” Zayn complained to his mum, sat around the kitchen table a week later.

Trisha looked over at him, paused in her mixing of herbs in the little mortar and pestle Zayn got her for her birthday. “But love, if this is who you are, it is usual. Nothing’s changed, really, has it?”

Now, Zayn isn’t so sure the reception will be as casual. Explaining to his mum he _liked_ birds and lads had been embarrassing but easy. Explaining to his mum he’s _dating_ a bird and a lad is slightly more daunting.

Blinking heavily, he stares at the text Trisha sent two days ago: _are you and niall coming to sheena’s wedding love auntie needs to know for the caterer! let me know sunshine love you always xxx mum_ Zayn wipes a hand across his eyes and sighs. He’ll call her later. It’s too early to explain a threesome.

;

“Zaynie’s up,” Harry squeals, exaggeratedly high above the rising whistle of the tea kettle. She and Niall are on their second cups, and a fresh brew has proved invaluable in bringing life to morning Zayns in the past. It’s one of Harry’s favorite things: their new little routines, the way she and Niall are always up first and get to potter about the kitchen like proper housewives making brunch.

“Morning,” Zayn mumbles, sliding past Harry with a kiss to her cheek and propping up against Niall’s back as he digs through the fridge. “‘Ve you been up long?”

“Oh, aeons,” Harry nods, seriously. “When we got up there were dinosaurs in the garden, but as you can see, they’ve all gone now.”

Zayn nods. “Sick.”

Niall wraps an arm around Zayn’s waist as he stands up, careful not to knock him over, and passes Harry a tin of mushrooms and the baggie of cut green peppers leftover from last night’s stir fry. “Do you want anything else, Zayn? We’ve already put in a bit of spinach.”

“Omelettes?” Zayn wonders, eyes closed against Niall’s shoulder.

“Omelettes, babe,” Niall confirms. “Mushrooms, peppers, spinach, do you want anything else?”

Zayn shakes his head. He’d napped a bit more after rereading his mum’s text, and he still feels like he could’ve stayed in bed longer. Days off feel meant for hibernation. Still, the smells wafting out of the kitchen couldn’t be ignored. “Can we take it back to bed when you’re done?” he asks, opens his eyes just long enough to glance up at Niall pitifully, stick out his lower lip.

“Oi,” Niall says mildly. “Look at this one, Haz, shall we have mercy on him?”

Harry rolls her eyes. “Do we have another option with that face?”

Zayn grins, tucking his smugness back into the crook of Niall’s neck and wrapping his arms around his skinny waist. Niall rubs his back, and his fingers are a bit damp from washing the spinach, but if they’re going back to bed, Zayn can just take off his water-speckled vest.

“Think we wore him out,” Niall says. “Just can’t take our sexiness, our Zaynie.”

Harry finds herself grinning absurdly at the frying pan, and has to shake herself. “Perhaps we need to tone it down,” she offers. “We could make it special occasions only––I can pencil you in on Saturdays, put it on the calendar.”

“Hey,” Zayn protests. “That’s a terrible idea.”

Niall muffles laughter against the side of Zayn’s head. “Can you imagine, us having a sex schedule? That’d be a laugh.”

Zayn makes an unconvinced noise. “Is it nearly done?”

Waving her spatula, Harry indicates the pan, with its sizzling, golden eggs and veggies. “Nearly. There’s turkey sausage in the oven, it’s already cooked, we’re just trying to keep it warm for you.”

“Sick,” Zayn says, with more feeling than absolutely needed; he’s clearly glad to have moved on to a happier subject. Harry shares a knowing grin with Niall over his head.

“Why don’t you get yourself a mug while I help Haz plate this up,” Niall suggests, pushing him gently in the direction of the cabinet.

Harry starts humming as she fills their plates, scooping up extra veggies for herself when they fall off the boys’ plates. “There’s a bowl of fruit in the fridge,” she tells Niall, “if you don’t mind getting it out.”

Niall passes it to her, not without examining the contents and leering over her shoulder. “Mmm, has that got pineapple?”

“It does have pineapple, Niall,” Harry smiles beatifically. “It also has pomegranate arils and mango, it’s a very tropical mix today.”

Zayn tucks his chin over Niall’s shoulder and looks between them. “I think Harry’s implying something,” he mock-whispers.

“Never!” Harry laughs, one hand swatting at him with her spatula and passing him a full plate with the other. “I just want to be sure you boys are getting enough potassium. You won’t eat bananas, so.”

“We eat bananas,” Niall says. “Just not as many as you do.”

Harry hmphs, and hands him his own plate.

“I eat bananas,” Niall repeats. “Back me up here, Zayn.”

“Well,” Zayn says, and Niall goes straight for his nipples.

“Oh my god,” Harry says, “don’t you dare get eggs on the carpet. Guys. Guys!”

;

“I have egg in my hair,” Zayn informs them flatly.

Niall looks barely penitent, and Harry is biting back a grin.

“I have _egg_ in my _hair_ ,” Zayn repeats, with emphasis.

“Is this better or worse than that time I nutted off in your fringe?” Niall asks, from a safe distance across the mattress. They’ve retired to bed, post-wrestling match and having mostly finished breakfast. There are remains of fruit salad on plates on the bedside table and fry up, as pointed out with displeasure, in Zayn’s hair.

Zayn narrows his eyes.

“Lovely as that story sounds,” Harry says, tentatively, “maybe we should be more sympathetic, Niall? Can you imagine the headline in the Sun, ‘ZAYN MALIK’S BARNET COMPROMISED BY EGG’ might not be the greatest, y’know?”

“Oh fuck off,” Zayn groans, “it’s just disgusting, okay, I don’t want my food in my hair.”

Harry nods kindly. “Which is why we should all go shower and Niall and I’ll wash your hair to make it up to you.”

They fit into Zayn’s shower a little tightly, but it isn’t as if any of them particularly want personal space like this. Harry’s the tallest, so she gets the back and Zayn leans against her chest, lets Niall press in close to his front. “It’s a Harry ‘n Nialler sandwich,” Niall grins, “and you’re the zelly.”

Zayn giggles, drawing Niall in by the hips and making a face when he shakes water out of his hair. “You’re like, what is it, Wonderbread? And Harry’s whole-grain, like, the kind with all the seeds.”

“Get in,” Harry nods, pleased. “I’m fuckin’ wholesome.”

Niall cackles, leaning heavier against the two of them and pressing his thigh up between Zayn’s. “And nutty. Get it?”

“Yes!” Harry nods, excitedly. “Cause like, I’ve got pine nuts and slivered almonds and shit.”

“Ooh,” Niall murmurs, “there’s some sort of nutting off joke in there.”

“I’m never eating a sandwich again,” Zayn informs them.

Harry fist bumps Niall around Zayn’s shoulder, and Niall shrugs. “For meself, I’m a bit peckish, actually, now that you mention it.”

“We could do bacon sarnies for lunch,” Harry says thoughtfully. “There’s turkey bacon in the freezer.”

“God,” Niall moans. “Yeah.”

Zayn sighs, and reaches down between his stomach and Niall’s to take Niall’s cock in his hand. Distraction and initiative are the two keys to his survival in this relationship, and he’s mastered both.

“Oh,” Harry says, “Are we doing that?”

“Yep,” Zayn says, decisive, and cranes his neck to kiss her throat, leaning back to let her watch as he wanks Niall up against his stomach.

Niall shifts uneasily on the balls of his feet, holding onto Zayn’s hip with one hand and pressing his other palm to the tile walls of the shower. “You won’t let me fall, will you?”

Zayn laughs, and leans up to kiss him. “You gonna fall over just from a handjob, babe?”

“Might if you keep doing that,” Niall gasps, looking down to watch Zayn press his thumb into the vein on the underside of his cock, dragging his foreskin down as he wanks him slowly.

“Boys,” Harry murmurs, fondly. “So easy.”

Niall reaches up and tugs at a curl coming out from behind her ear, wraps his hand around the nape of her neck and draws her down for a kiss. Zayn watches them snog, Harry’s strawberry lips sliding against Niall’s until they’re just as pink, flashes of her pearly teeth nipping at him and glimpses of his tongue pressing in against hers. He tightens his hand on Niall’s cock.

“Wanna fuck later,” Niall says, voice rough but soothed with how the words stay between their mouths, like they’re being passed back and forth. “Haz, fuck.”

Zayn pushes his thumb against the slit of Niall’s cockhead: he isn’t exactly jealous, but his back’s cold with how Harry’s moved from behind him, letting him lean against cool tile so she can snog Niall more thoroughly. He’s less between them than beside them, now, just watching.

Harry is running her hands across Niall’s chest, her thumbs finding his nipples and making him squirm––he’s ticklish, Zayn knows, and Harry should too by now. Maybe she doesn’t care, because she keeps doing it: until her blunt nails catch and Niall moans, loudly, against her mouth. Zayn frowns. Sometimes it’s the hardest part in all this, not knowing if preferences change, or if there are exceptions that aren’t you.

“Hey,” Harry says, softly. “Zayn?” Her mouth is so fucking red, and Zayn finds himself staring, but when he finally meets her eyes, she looks nervous.

“Hey, babe,” he says, smiles at her. Her hair’s going frizzy where it’s half-wet around her face, fuzzy little curls around her temples, and he reaches out to smooth it back. Harry leans into the touch, and Zayn swallows, taking his hand off Niall’s cock. He steps in closer, his toes nudging Niall’s on the shower floor, and kisses Harry’s mouth, two quick pecks. “Come on then,” he says. “I wanna see that, yeah? You and Nialler. Let’s go to bed.”

;

Watching Niall and Harry fuck makes it even more impossible to imagine leaving her behind when they head north next weekend. Zayn thinks about Harry staying behind: sleeping alone in this bed and flipping through Netflix on their couch, getting the mail and leaving the bills unopened on the counter, and scoots closer to them.

Niall has Harry on her hands and knees, is gripping her hips with white knuckles, pulling her back to meet his fierce thrusts, and Harry is moaning on every stroke now. Zayn curls up on his side and traces the muscles in Harry’s shoulder, down her bicep. It’s a bad angle for holding hands but he slots his fingers through hers and lets her tighten her grip until he can feel their blood pounding at the same rhythm.   

;

Harry crawls out of bed sometime after four, digging through the laundry basket in the bathroom to find cycling leggings and a sports bra. Niall keeps a bottle of Febreeze under the sink, and she sprays herself down, smells like wet cotton when she comes back into the bedroom to kiss them goodbye. Zayn barely moves, and Niall rolls over to grab his phone when she’s left, checking their shared calendar. She has a cycling class at five in Camden. There’s no way she won’t be late, but Harry likes that, arriving when people can’t swarm her as easily.

There’s another event scheduled at seven, “Dinner with Nick???” and a wine glass emoji. Niall smiles a bit and slides his phone back onto the nightstand, glancing at Zayn. His stomach grumbles, and Niall slides out of bed, picking up boxers from the floor. They’re Zayn’s, he thinks, soft from years of washing, because Zayn is horrible about buying new things unless they’re shoes or jackets.

There isn’t a lot left in their fridge: Harry staying over several nights in a row means actually using up all of the groceries Zayn orders before they go bad, and Niall grabs a beer from the door and goes to look in the counter drawer for a carry-out menu.

He’s trying to decide between Vietnamese or Indian when Zayn trudges in, wearing a pair of Harry’s old-fashioned flannel pajama bottoms and scratching at his happy trail. “Haz left?”

“Yeah,” Niall says, a little distractedly. If they’re having Indian, Zayn will want the place on the absolute other side of town because he claims they have better sauces.

“She coming back for supper?”

Niall passes the two Indian menus to Zayn. “Nah, think she’s catching up with Grimmy later.”

Zayn grunts and immediately sets aside the closer, quicker option for the place across town. “We could get a few things just in case.” They both know that “catching up with Grimmy” can mean anything from a pastry in the BBC caf to having dinner, watching GBBO, and deciding to go clubbing till 3 a.m., at which point Harry will inevitably be hungry when she gets home.

“Yeah,” Niall agrees. “She liked the prawn thing we got last time, didn’t she?”

Zayn nods, pointing it out with a fingertip. “And she’ll want sommat with veg.”

“Right.” Niall takes the menu back, and Zayn picks his beer up off the counter and retreats with it to the couch.

“You know what I like,” he calls, pitching his voice to sound sleepier than he was a moment before. “I love you, Niall.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall mutters, typing the number into his phone. “Love you too.”

;

Dinner takes twice as long to get there as it would have if they’d ordered from the first place, but Zayn’s face as he opens the cartons on their coffee table is worth the way Niall’s stomach has turned inside out and begun eating itself.

“Nearly as good as Shimlas,” he grins at Niall, and Niall rolls his eyes, flicks a grain of sticky rice off his thumb in Zayn’s direction.

They cuddle up on opposite ends of the couch, feet curled together in the center under one of the fuzzy blankets Harry brought from her place weeks ago. Zayn leans forward to feed Niall bites of his curry, and Niall passes Zayn a second beer when he’s ready for it.

They’re nearly done, Zayn pushing rice around to mop up his sauce with a plastic fork, and Niall rubs his toes against the arch of Zayn’s foot. “Do you get jealous?”

Zayn glances up at him and frowns. “Why’d you ask that?”

“You know why,” Niall says, and puts down his empty bottle. “Sometimes I just get nervous.”

Zayn sets his plate aside, pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around them. “About what?”

Niall exhales harshly through his nose. “About us. You’ve been so good about, like, letting Harry join in, and sometimes it feels like you’re––kind of pushing us ahead when you’re pulling away.”

“I’m not pulling away,” Zayn says, his forehead wrinkling, eyes hurt.

Niall looks at him for a long moment before nodding. “I know that,” he says, finally. “Or, I know you don’t mean to. But that’s what it feels like, sometimes.”

They’re both quiet, and Zayn stares at the cartons of takeout still left on the table: two not even open, saved for Harry. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Niall nods, and his face clears, slowly before it’s bright all at once. “I forgive you.”

“I guess I just––I get nervous, too,” Zayn admits, haltingly. “This isn’t easy anymore, and that’s weird, I guess.”

Niall scoots closer on the couch, wrapping his arms around the whole of Zayn, their knees and foreheads knocking as Niall pulls them close to lace his fingers at the middle of Zayn’s back. Zayn rests his head against Niall’s shoulder, and closes his eyes.

;

“Oh my _god_ ,” Harry giggles, falling into Nick’s lap in their corner booth. “This is the best party, Nick, why didn’t we come earlier? I can’t believe Pixie proper made out with that bloke at the bar.”

Nick knocks Harry’s hands away from his new drink on the table and pins them against her thigh. “I can’t believe that you’re this smashed already, darling.”

Harry leans her head back against Nick’s shoulder and takes a long, appreciative sniff at his throat. “You smell so expensive,” she whispers, somewhere in the general direction of his ear.

“Thanks, love,” Nick laughs. “You bought me this cologne for my birthday.”

“Oh,” Harry says, “oh! I did, I remember that now. It smells better on you than it did on me when I tested it, though.” She rubs her nose up and down Nick’s neck. “You smell almost as good as Zayn does. I didn’t buy his cologne though, I think Niall did.”

“That was nice of him,” Nick says, sounding amused.

“They’re very nice to each other,” Harry nods. “And now they’re nice to me too. We get along faboo- fabu- fabulously.” She giggles. Words more than three syllables are so tricky when she’s drunk. Nick tucks a curl behind her ear.

Aimee plops down on the other side of the booth and makes a face at them. “I reckon I’m heading out soon.”

“Nooo,” Harry moans, “we’re having so much fun!”

Laughing, Aimee pushes a glass of water towards Harry. “Looks like someone’s having a bit too much fun.” She’s talking to Nick over Harry’s head, which is very impolite. Harry would complain, but Nick is petting her arm and there’s a bendy straw in the water. Harry loves bendy straws. “D’you need help getting her home?”

“Nah,” Nick says. “I’ll get us a cab in a mo.”

“Alright.” Aimee stands up, adjusting her minidress, and Harry whistles. It’s not a very good whistle, but Aimee deserves it, just for having those boobs.

“I wish I had a proper rack,” Harry reflects mournfully, as Nick stands her up so she can hug Aimee goodbye and he can get their jackets from the other side of the booth.

“Can’t have it all, popstar,” Aimee grins, and pats Harry’s cheek before she disappears.

Harry sags against Nick and feels at her own chest. “I wonder what it’d be like to have big boobs.”

“Something I ponder every day,” Nick says, drily, steering her towards the door. He stops them just short of the exit to help Harry into her jacket. As he gets her arms into her coat sleeves, Harry’s blouse pops open another button. “Oop, the paps would love that shot, drunkie,” he says laughingly, tucking her nipple back into her bralette and smoothing down her shirt.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles. Now that she’s on her feet, her head is spinning.

Nick kisses the top of her head and links his arm through hers, guiding her out the door. “Let’s just get you home, first, and then you can thank me.”

;

Zayn’s just gotten Niall to the back of his throat when the doorbell goes off and he chokes. Niall makes a gargling sound that fades to a sad whimper as Zayn pulls away, wiping his mouth. They stare at each other blankly, and then hear Harry’s all too familiar drunk laugh through the call box. “Hiya, I know you’re hoooome, can you let me in please, I’m a little bit drunk! And Grimmy’s here! We’re both drunk!”

“Oh my god,” Niall says, faintly, and pulls up his pants. “Has she forgotten she has a key?”

Zayn is hopping on one leg trying to squeeze back into his own trousers with a semi. “Think I’d rather she forgot if she’s got Grimmy with her, to be honest. Not something he’d want to see––”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Nick says, appearing in the living room door. He’s still mostly supporting Harry against his side, and she lights up when she sees the two of them.

“Zaynie! Nialler! Nick brought me home.” She throws her arms out. “Ta da!”

“Yeah, okay,” Zayn says, “Hi, babes.” He lets her slump against him, and holds her up under the arms. “Uh, thanks, Nick.”

“No problem.” Nick glances between the three of them. “I’ll leave you to it, just wanted to be sure she was in safe hands.”

“Thanks, Grimmy,” Niall nods. “We’ve got this.”

Against Zayn’s neck, Harry lets out a snore.

;

Harry rouses as they get her undressed, and Zayn tries to wipe flakes of mascara off her cheeks. “I want a bath,” she moans. “And orange juice. Can I have a banana?”

Niall laughs. “Anything else, princess?”

Harry pouts, her mouth smushed against Zayn’s shoulder as he props her up. “Don’t be mean, Niall, I’m suffering.”

“You’re stuttering, maybe,” Niall says archly, and pokes her cheek. “Haven’t seen you this smashed in a while, babe.”

“Haven’t been this smashed in a while,” Harry retorts. “Ooh, remember when you and me used to get soooo drunk, Zayn? Like that time in Australia, that was sick.”

Zayn rolls his eyes at Niall over her head. “Maybe you get the banana and the juice and I’ll run her a bath?”

Niall gives him a thumb’s up and disappears in the direction of the kitchen.

“Alright,” Zayn mumbles, setting Harry down on the rim of the bath and messing with the spigots to get the water temperature right. “Do you want some bubbles?”

Harry nods enthusiastically, and then reaches up to hold her head still with both hands, looking tragic. Zayn bites his lip and goes to search under the sink for a bath bomb.

When Niall gets back, the two of them, along with an ass-load of bubbles, are in the tub: Harry looks pleased, and Zayn looks resigned. “She kept sliding over,” he explains, when Niall cocks an eyebrow at them.

“Pity it isn’t big enough for three,” Niall shrugs. He hands the glass of juice to Zayn, who holds it carefully for Harry to take a sip. She sighs gratefully before slumping against Zayn’s chest and motioning for her banana.

Niall settles on the mat by the side of the tub and peels the end open before handing the fruit to her. “So, you have fun with Grimmy tonight?”

Harry nods seriously around her mouthful of banana. “Nick smells so good.”

Behind her, Zayn makes an aborted sound, pressing what Niall suspects was a laugh into Harry’s damp curls.

“Oh yeah?” Niall asks. “What’s he smell like?”

Harry closes her eyes. “Mmm, like… Dover Street, but antique-ier. Like, really nice old velvet. And satsumas.” She blinks. “Maybe we could make that our new perfume!”

“Yeah, we’ll suggest that to the Eden people,” Zayn says.

“Might be a hit,” Niall agrees. “Who doesn’t like really nice old velvet.”

“Exactly,” Harry nods. “Exactly.”

;

Harry is still asleep in the middle of the bed, duvet pulled up under one arm, face smushed in Niall’s pillow and hair in her mouth, when Zayn gets up. He tucks his own pillow against her front so she has something to hold onto if she moves in her sleep, and pulls on a shirt from the foot of the bed, finds the house slippers Niall bought him for Christmas under the dresser.

Niall’s already up, judging from the sounds in the kitchen, and Zayn spares a thought for hot tea before deciding he wants a cigarette instead. He grabs the pack out of his underwear drawer and his phone off the nightstand. He’s careful, pulling the sliding glass door to the balcony open just enough to slide through before pushing it shut behind himself. The air outside is crisp, dew still on the greenery in the planters. Zayn lights up and inhales deeply, lets out a heavy breath that crystallizes in the air.

He pulls out his phone, and scrolls through his recent calls.

It only takes two rings for his mum to pick up.

“Hello, sunshine. What’re you doing up this early, then?”

“Hi mum. Just wanted to hear your voice didn’t I?”

“Oh, don’t be silly. You can hear my voice any time, can’t you. Going to see you next week even, I’ll pester you all you can stand then.”

Zayn watches the cherry of his cigarette fade, a thin trail of smoke disappearing into the brightening blue sky. “Yeah, mum, about that.”

“You are still coming, yeah? You know how the girls have been wanting to see you, and Niall––” his mum trails off, probably thinking about re-arranging the entire table layout if Zayn and Niall don’t show, and how big a bouquet of flowers will appease Zayn’s aunt in his absence.

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “I’m still coming, mum.”

“Well, that wasn’t so hard, was it? All you had to tell me and you’ve been nattering on for weeks about how you don’t know and have to think about it.”

“Mum,” Zayn says, quietly.

Trisha is silent for a moment. “Is this about Niall?”

Zayn grinds out his cigarette on the lip of a planter. Harry will yell at him later, but that’s alright. Harry will be there to yell at him, and that’s what matters. “No, mum, not about Niall. Everything’s fine, yeah? It’s just that, um, Harry’s been staying with us for a bit, actually? And we were hoping she could come along next week. If you think it won’t give Auntie a heart attack.”

Trisha laughs down the phone, eternally young, and Zayn laughs with her, relief bubbling up under his skin and soothing the itch of the last few weeks. “Is that it, then? Oh, love, I don’t think your aunt will mind one bit if Harry comes along.”

“Well,” Zayn rubs at his cold nose. “I just wanted to check, like.”

“Alright,” his mum says. “Well, I’ll tell your aunt and you won’t worry about it again, yeah? Don’t be daft, sunshine. Your sisters’ll be mad it isn’t Liam, that’s all.”

Behind him, the door creaks open, and Harry slips out. She’s wearing one of Niall’s tee-shirts and high knee-socks that look like she nicked them out of Louis’ footie bag. She drapes herself against Zayn’s arm and tucks her chin over his shoulder, curling up close beside him. Zayn rests his jaw against her tousled hair, and listens to his mum describe the catering for the next weekend, and how their cousins are coming in for the rehearsal dinner.

“Niall’s got breakfast ready,” Harry whispers, after a while. “He made us pancakes with little blueberries for eyes and noses and lips.”

Zayn nods, and kisses her forehead, pushing her back towards the house. “I’ll be there in a minute,” he promises, and watches Harry go, long legs and knock knees, her fingers waving at him through the glass as she disappears into the house.

“Hey, mum? I’ve got to go.”


End file.
